May 6, 2009

Sleeping Beauty

This thorny, horny, hoary, punk-spiky
prick-thicket of swollen red
infection waiting to happen,
& pain-cries & suckled fingers
& never-agains,

snarled, snarling, shriveled, vicious, waiting
for something soft to come along,
something to stab & satisfy
its curiosity -

"What is that plant?"

It once bore roses, red
red roses.

"Is it dead?"

Not dead. They say, there is still
beauty sleeping
inside.

No comments: